


Deeper than my Skin

by 74days



Series: Meet-Cute AU's [20]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Artist Steve Rogers, F/M, M/M, Meet-Cute, Punk Bucky Barnes, Tattooed Bucky, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve thought that living with a bad tattoo was just one of those things, until a drunken night out with his friends changes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deeper than my Skin

Steve was pretty sure that living with a bad tattoo was one of those things that people who’d been in the army just had to deal with. The pin-up girl over his heart with her red lips and pin curled hair was a pen and ink job – a **_terrible_** pen and ink job – done for a packet of smokes and a bar of Hershey’s chocolate sent from home. He’d been lucky that he’d managed to escape infection – although looking at her blobby legs and stumpy arms, it might have actually improved the thing.

“Seriously, dude,” Sam had laughed, when Steve lifted up his shirt to dab at his sweating face after their run. “What the hell is that?”

Steve just shrugged. “Uh, bad tattoo from back when.” He said, “Guy told me he could copy a drawing of a pin-up girl I’d drawn – didn’t quite work out.”

“You don’t say?” Sam snorted, trying to catch another look, but Steve pulled down his shirt and grinned.

“You’re obviously not pushing yourself as hard as you can if you can still talk.” He said, grinning. “Let’s give it another couple of laps.”

Clint, who’d collapsed on the grass and had not moved, let out a low moan. “Awww man, no.” He groaned. “Come on, Cap, I’m too young to die.”

“Barton, you’re the one who wanted to ‘get fitter’.” Steve pointed out. “To keep up with the smoking hot sex bomb that may or may not exist.”

“She exists.” He said, getting to his feet – despite his protests about his level of fitness Steve actually knew Clint Barton was in great shape. Out of them all, it was probably **_Steve_** who needed the work-out – his body was still in okay shape, but spending almost 2 months in a coma and another 4 getting used to solid foods and adjusting to civilian life after so long in the army had left him pretty weak. “She **_totally_** exists.”

“How come you’re not introducing us then?” Sam asked, as they fell into a steady jog, warming back up again. Steve always wanted to skip the warm up – go right into the run, but he knew that he just wouldn’t be able to keep it up – but Sam and Clint kept him right.

Clint snorted. “Yeah right.” He managed, “To you two? Oh hey, Natasha, meet Sam, the nicest warmest guy on the planet, and Steve, the heart of gold and the body of a Greek god. I’m not an idiot, I already know I’m hitting above my weight with this woman – I’m not gonna sabotage it.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Steve said, but Clint snorted again.

“Dude, she’s amazing: Kick ass and hard-core and weirdly squishy sometimes.” He paused. “She’s got these throwing knives, and the metal changes colour when the light hits it. You know what she does with them?” He asked, not waiting for them to guess. “She uses them as bookmarks. She knits. She boxes. She might just be the perfect woman.” Both Sam and Steve smiled indulgently at him when he sighed. “Not that you two would know anything about perfect women.”

“Hey!” Steve said, faking hurt. “I date women.”

“Yeah, Steve, I’m pretty sure that the last time you went on a date was like, 1940, and I’m also pretty sure that your last hook-up was with a dude – and Sam’s **_married_** to a dude.”

“So why aren’t we meeting this woman?” Sam pointed out, as they picked up the pace a little. Steve didn’t miss the little side look that he received from both of his friends, checking to make sure he wasn’t pushing himself too hard. He resisted the urge to tell them he was 240lbs and 6 foot 2, but managed not to let it needle him.

“Because.” Clint said, “I want to make sure I do it right. I really like her.”

Neither Sam or Steve could tease him about that though, so they grinned and let the subject drop.

* * *

 

Steve Rogers had been a small, sickly kid, who grew up – and up – and didn’t stop until he was the tallest guy in school. He played sports and loved art and hated bullies. It made sense to him that the army was the way to go, even though he knew he could have gotten into good schools on his grades (and better schools on his football stats) but he wanted to serve his country in the best way he could.

For nearly 10 years he performed and outperformed – raising all the way up to Captain before being involved in an almost fatal carrier crash – shot down over the frozen Russian countryside by rebels. The plane had crashed into a lake rather than the frozen ground, and when they found him they were pretty sure he’d never wake up. In the end, it was the cold water that actually saved him, slowing his heart rate right down. But 2 months in a coma left its mark. After his run he was exhausted, and although he tried to hide it from Sam and Clint, he was pretty sure that once they left him drinking his juiced drink (he’d been supplementing his diet with juiced fruits and veg to give him a boost) that they both knew he’d be collapsing on the couch for a few hours. Sam didn’t look too far off that either though, so Steve tried not to get frustrated that he wasn’t back to his fighting form just yet.

He did manage to get into the shower first though, running on adrenaline and stubbornness, before landing face first onto his mattress and falling asleep.

* * *

 

When he woke up, he was pleased to see that it was only a few hours he’d been sleeping – the last time he’d opened his eyes after a run had had already started to get dark and he’d lost a whole day.

He had a few messages on his phone from Sam and Clint, both asking if he was going to head to the bar that night to meet up with Rhodey – an active Air Force Colonel on leave – and Tony Stark, **_the_** Tony Stark, who was his best friend and always good for a night on the town. Steve had met Stark a few times and liked him well enough in small doses, but he wasn’t too sure if he’d be completely unbearable once he’d started drinking – after all, he was pretty famous for his antics.

He had another couple of texts from Brock, a guy he’d dated once a few weeks after getting out of hospital, who just didn’t seem to get the fact that Steve wasn’t that into him. He wasn’t going to be an asshole about it though, and sent him (yet another) text to let him know that he had already made plans. He was pretty sure sooner or later he’d get the hint.

Getting to his feet, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror hanging by the closet. He’d lost some weight in the hospital, but luckily he’d managed to stop any lasting deterioration of muscle from all that time laying still. Without a layer of fat to smooth out his skin, he looked a little weird, skin looking too tight over his abs and ribs. Before he’d looked smooth and he enjoyed the appreciative looks he’d always gotten when he wore a tight t-shirt, but when he saw himself now he saw flaws. Nothing a bit of calorie boosting wouldn’t fix though. He just had to make sure he didn’t over-do it.

The towel was low on his hips where he’d re-tied it after standing up, and his eyes skimmed over the tattoo like always. It wasn’t like he hated it, but he just didn’t think too much about it anymore. He just wished that 21 year old him would have waited to go to a real tattoo artist who could have done the original drawing justice and not marked up his skin with an ugly permanent reminder of his youth.

The drawing had been based on the old WWII pin-up girls, particularly the famous Peggy Carter – a stunningly beautiful woman who had lead a group of black ops soldiers called the ‘Howling Commandos’ and getting herself a reputation as a real femme fatal. Her enlistment had been a matter of contention at the time, but it paved the way for a whole movement of women in the forces and Steve had had a total crush on her in high school history. However, the tattoo – which had her in her moss green USO uniform and a jaunty salute – was more like a green blob with legs. Certainly not something to be proud of. Sighing, he walked past his reflection and decided that he’d head out with Sam and Clint for a couple of drinks. It couldn’t hurt.

* * *

 

Steve arrived last, although he hadn’t meant to. He hated being late for anything – even informal drinks – but his next door neighbour had a sick kid and Steve obviously wasn’t going to let her go all the way to the drug store for some cough mixture – and when he’d come back with the items required (and a comic for Josh to read while he got over his cold) The elevator had broken down and Mrs Manelli was trying to haul her walker up three flights of stairs. She’d wanted to talk to him a little, because she was old and forgetful and sometimes thought Steve was her old beau who went off to war and never came back.

So when he walked in, Clint, Sam, Rhodey and Tony were already there, drinks filling up the table in front of them. “Sorry I’m late,” He said with an apologetic smile. “Kept finding things to do.”

“Little old ladies need help crossing the road, Cap?” Tony asked, as Rhodey stood up and gave him a hug and two slaps on the back.

“Glad to see you made it,” He said, grinning. He was pretty laid back for a man of his rank (he’d have to be, considering his best friend was Tony Stark) and Steve had always liked him. “Looking good Cap.”

“You too, sir,” Steve said, ripping off a smart salute. “You flyboys scrub up real nice.”

“Ohhh, **_now_ ** he’s a sassmaster!” Sam jeered, a man who loved being in the sky. He had his pilot licence and he’d met Riley through their roles as Paramilitary rescue - he’d been the one who’d gotten Steve out. “Next beer’s on you for the cheek.”

* * *

 

Tony wasn’t as abrasive as Steve had expected. He was advised later by a slightly drunk Col.Rhodes that the reason behind his new-found mellow streak was that he’d started dating **_Pepper_**. Steve was apparently supposed to know who that was, but going on the tone of near reverence from the other man, he figured it was a good match.

Steve had never been a lightweight before, it had been a talking point on bases that he could drink them all under the table and still be standing at the end without a hair out of place on his blond head – but months and months of zero booze had changed that – he was swaying quite obviously when they poured themselves out of the bar. Clint was vocalising about how great Natasha was to Tony, who had an arm slug over the other mans shoulder as he talked at length about how Pepper was changing him for the better. Steve kind of tuned them out, trying to focus on keeping his legs from buckling from under him as he knew from experience that there was no way a drunk Sam would be able to stop his fall.

“Hey!” Sam suddenly said, stopping so fast the Clint and Tony barrelled right into him with distressed yelps. “Look at that!” He announced, ignoring the men behind him and pointing to a small shop front. It was lit up, obviously still open, a pin up girl made of neon lights in the window. “Winter Soldier Ink.”

“Nice,” Steve managed, trying to work out how to get his feet to start moving again without landing on his face.

“No no no no no!” Sam said, grabbing his shirt. “Dude, get your fucked up tat fixed.”

“Captain all America has a tattoo?” Tony said, sounding confused. “Isn’t that like… unconstitutional or something?”

“It’s a shitty tattoo.” Clint agreed. “You should get it fixed.”

And because apparently when Steve had way too much to drink he’d never been the best at making decisions under the influence, he grinned. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

 

The bell gave a muted ‘ding’ as they all piled through the door – each one wanting to be the first to see inside. “I’m not sure this is sanitary.” Tony said, as he elbowed his way past Clint, standing in the middle of the small room and looking around with wide eyes at the flashes pinned to the walls.

“I’m pretty sure they have to pass tests.” Steve managed, stumbling a little as he squeezed through. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Yeah, we do.” An un-amused voice said, and Steve recognised it as not one of his friends immediately.

The guy standing behind the counter had escaped his notice at first, but now had Steve’s full attention. He looked… well.. Steve’s alcohol soaked brain was struggling to come up with anything other than ‘hot, so, so hot’. His hair was long on top, tied back into a kind of bun thing, but clipped close around the sides. He had a red star tattooed into the side of his head, just above and behind his ear, almost hidden by the re-growing hair. Small plugs in his ears – not the huge ones Steve sometimes saw on people in the bars, but small enough that they would probably pass as regular piercings. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeved rolled up to his forearms (the universal sign of hotness, in Steve’s book) and he could clearly see that his left arm and hand seemed to be completely inked to look metallic – shaded to look like realistic metal plates that seemed to shift as he moved. The counter pretty much hid his lower body, but Steve was gonna fill in those blanks on his own – he was obviously fit, going on the width of his shoulders and the tapering of his waist, so Steve imagined a pair of muscular thighs and a tight, firm ass. Maybe skinny jeans?

He didn’t realise that he was staring until Sam nudged him in the ribs. “Get some!” He whispered, probably not as subtly as he had intended, because the man at the desk shot them both an unimpressed look.

“So,” Tony was saying, swaying forward with his wallet already out. “My main man here, Capsicle, the tall blond Americano, he’s got a shitty tattoo apparently.” He pulled out a couple of notes. “Can you fix it? You fix stuff here?”

“I’ll need to take a look.” The man said, eyeing them like he wanted nothing more than to get these assholes out of his shop. “And **_then_** I’ll let you know.”

“Sure thing!” Clint said, swaying a little. “Steve, strip.”

Now Steve would normally have taken a comment like that and blushed – then promptly ignored it. He normally certainly would **_not_** start unbuttoning his shirt in the middle of a tattoo parlour, eyes fixed on the man behind the register. However, that was exactly what he was doing. Clint and Tony started singing ‘The Stripper’ theme as Sam wolf whistled. The man behind the register just rolled his eyes at them all. Steve figured he’d probably seen worse. Steve hoped he’d seen worse, because he was pretty sure he was going to die of shame in the morning.

When his shirt was half undone, the man held up his hand and said: “Stop, that’s all I need.” Steve was pretty sure he heard him mutter something about public indecency under his breath before beckoning Steve closer. “Okay, that’s… um…” He said, holding Steve’s shirt open and looking at his bared chest. “What the fuck is this supposed to be?”

“Peggy Carter.” Steve said, proudly. “Though the guy didn’t do it like how he should have.”

“No shit.” The other man said. “Pen and ink?”

“Yeah.” Steve replied. “Uh, smokes and a chocolate bar he took for it.”

“You were robbed, I’ve seen prison ink better than this.”

“Can you fix it?” Tony asked, looking at Steve’s chest by leaning around his body. “Cause **_damn_** , Steve, that’s certainly unconstitutional, marking up an American icon with shit like that.”

“Yeah, I can fix it.” The man said. “Although I’m not gonna do it tonight. Sober up, and **_then_** we can talk.”

* * *

 

Steve woke up with a thumping headache and a mouth drier than the Sahara desert, on a bed that wasn’t his. His shoes were off, but that was it, and when he tried to sit up, his head swam dangerously – stomach heaving. Luckily, he could see the open door of the bathroom from where he was trying to sit up, and managed to get his head over the white porcelain before he started spewing up what felt like all of his internal organs. Once he’d finished, he just sat on the cool tiled floor for a while, feeling sorry for himself. He had never had a hangover before and it felt like his body was making up for it now – his scalp hurt, his legs hurt, his damn toenails hurt. He was pretty sure he was never, ever going to drink for the rest of his life. His shirt smelt like the worst mix of smoke, booze, stale sweat and now, puke. Even being near his own body made him want to heave everything up again.

After god knows how long, a tentative knock on the door reached him, and he managed to grunt out a “Yeah?” before his head decided that talking was not something he should be doing of he wanted to keep his insides inside.

The door opened carefully, and a woman wearing a pair of short shorts and a white dress shirt padded through in her bare feet. Her red hair was lose around her shoulders and Steve suddenly realised where he was.

The pristine white walls and bedding, the marble tiled floor he was sprawled over – everything promoting money and taste. He was in the Tower.

The Stark Tower was the business hub for Stark industries, but the top levels were kept exclusively for Tony and his guests. Steve had never been inside before because he wasn’t that friendly with Tony really, just knew him through Rhodey and Clint. He remembered Miss Potts though, it was common knowledge that she ran the company that Tony headed from behind the scenes.

“Good Morning, Captain.” She said, voice soft and obviously taking into account the fact that he was dying on the floor.

“Steve.” He managed, too weary to even blush at what he must look like.

“Steve.” She smiled. “I’ve brought you through some water and some painkillers.” She said, holding them out to him with a commiserating glance. “If it makes you feel better, you don’t look half as bad as Sam or Clint.”

“Yeah?” He said, taking the pills and all the water.

“Oh god, yes.” She nodded, taking the empty glass from him. “I’m pretty sure Sam is still throwing up and Clint is just groaning into the bowl. If you want to have a shower, there are fresh towels here,” She pointed to the heated rail, “And I’ve sent out for clothes in your size.”

“You don’t have-” He started, but was cut off by a wave of a slender hand.

“Steve, you smell like death and Tony insisted. Take a shower.” She smiled softly to lessen her pointed words. “Tony and Rhodey are already eating their way through the entire breakfast selection that was brought up, so if you want to grab a bite, you’ll have to book it.”

“Thank you, Miss Potts.” Steve said, as politely as he could manage.

“Call me Pepper, Steve.” She smiled, leaving him alone to take her advice and get washed. Once she’d left, closing the door pointedly behind her, Steve struggled to his feet. Something in the back of his mind was niggling at him, something he was sure he should be remembering.

The water was hot on his skin when he made it under the spray, the water pressure a million times better than his apartment – and six different showerheads that sprayed him all over, instantly relaxing his tight muscles.

As he stood under the water and vowed that he was never going to leave the spray unless his life depended on it, parts of the night before started filtering back into his brain. Pepper… Pepper was the girl that Tony was dating – which meant that somehow, Tony had managed not to completely mess up one of the most important relationships of his professional life. Tony and Miss Potts? He was pretty sure that the tabloids would have a field day with that.

He scrubbed at his skin until it was pink and raw, remembering the bad dancing and the trays of drinks – Jesus, he’d better check his bank statement as soon as possible if he was buying trays of drinks at a time – and he remembered leaving the bar.

Stepping out of the shower and feeling a little more like a human person rather than a week old kitten, Steve glanced at his reflection in the steamed up mirror, the dark blob of his tattoo visible against his skin despite the misty mirror.

Then he remembered.

The tattoo parlour.

The tattoo **_artist_**.

Oh God.

* * *

 

“Ah, here he is!” Tony grinned from where he was perched on the counter, what looked like a McDonalds burger in each hand. “Help yourself,” He waved expansively over what looked like the entire breakfast menu from three separate franchises. “You’re the first of the lightweights to show, pick your poison.”

“How can you possibly not feel like death?” Steve managed, helping himself to a wrapped breakfast muffin with cheese and a hash brown, the grease making him equally hungry and queasy.

Both Rhodey and Tony let out matching snorts of laughter. “You try spending most of your life trying to keep up with this guy, drink for drink,” Rhodey said around a mouthful of burger. “I’m pretty sure my liver got up and left a looooong time ago.”

“That’s not exactly something to be proud of.” Pepper said, appearing from nowhere and picking up some of the empty wrappers from the counter-top and putting them in the trash can before heading to the coffee machine. “Steve?” She said, picking up a mug and holding it out to him.

“Oh, god, please.” He said, swallowing quickly.

“Anyway…” Tony said, grinning wolfishly at Steve. “I’m going to remind you now that you’ve got an appointment in like, an hour, with the smoking hot tattoo guy you were having eye sex with last night.”

“An appointment?” Pepper said, looking confused. “Tony, it’s called a date.”

“No, it’s an appointment.” Tony told her, winking. “He’s gonna fix up Cap’s shitty tattoo.” He leered at Steve. “That’s if Steve can manage not to get arrested for jumping him the moment he’s within grabbing range.”

“Not everyone acts like a dog in heat when they like someone.” Pepper pointed out, giving Steve a smile, and handing him a mug of hot, rich coffee.

“You didn’t see him.” Tony pointed out. “He was like a Tex Avery wolf, jaw on the floor and panting.” He grinned. “It was beautiful.”

“Stunning.” Rhodey nodded, laughing at Steve’s mortified expression. “And you’ve got 50 minutes before your appointment.”

“Happy will drive you.” Tony said, and completely dismissed Steve’s plea to pay him for everything – the clothes that he was wearing, the cost of the drive – all of it waved off with a: “I’m Tony Stark. Don’t be crazy, I can afford it.”

* * *

 

Steve sat in the car as Happy, who lived up to his name, chatted away to him as he sat in the back. He’d been working for Tony forever it seemed, and had loads of stories to tell him as they sat in the Saturday morning traffic. He was dropped off at the door of the parlour, that looked less alluring in the morning light, and gave Happy a wave as he took off, weaving in-between parked cars.

The bell gave the same muted ding as he pushed open the door, and Steve was sending up silent prayers that by some miraculous twist of fate, the guy wouldn’t remember him.

“Oh, I see you actually remembered.” A dry voice said, and the man from the night before walked out of the back room, drying his hands on a white towel. “I had a personal bet going that you would have forgotten the whole thing.”

“Uh,” Steve managed, because damn, his drunk brain really hadn’t taken into account the hard line of his jaw, or his navy eyes, or the fact that he had the most kissable mouth Steve had ever seen in the whole of his life. “Uh, no,” He got out, and could already feel his skin heating up with a bright red blush. “I remembered. I kinda wish I didn’t though.”

“You’re not the first drunk assholes who show up after midnight wanting a tattoo.” The guy pointed out, and held out his hand. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Steve Rogers.” Steve said, trying not to notice that Bucky’s hands were softer than he’d expected – especially as his brain was trying to tell him that the ‘metal’ arm should be hard and cold. The amount of detail in the tattooed plates was unreal, and the shading was so complex that it tricked the brain.

“So, Steve Rogers,” Bucky said, either not noticing Steve’s weird reaction to him being the hottest guy on the planet, or he was so used to people looking at him like they wanted to eat him for lunch that it didn’t faze him anymore. “You wanna talk about what we’re gonna do with Peggy Carter, huh?”

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Steve was drawing out a quick sketch of what he’d originally wanted, while Bucky sat working on a trace of the tattoo he actually had. “It might take a few sessions.” Bucky pointed out, looking up from the tracing table. He’d told Steve that he didn’t normally let clients through the back, but as Steve could draw what he wanted, it was a one off thing. Steve was trying not to look too much into that. He was failing. “Cause there is a lot of colour that we’re gonna need to shadow out and go over.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Steve agreed quickly, trying not to be too keen to spend more time with Bucky, even if most of it was gonna be him in a little bit of pain. “I thought I’d just be stuck with it like that forever, to be honest.” He said, handing over the sketch. “I didn’t think too much about it.”

“This is what you wanted in the first place?” Bucky asked, taking the paper out of Steve’s hand and staring at it.

“Yeah?” He said, feeling a little unsure.

“Shit, man, did you punch the butcher who did this?” Bucky said, looking at the drawing and then back at Steve. “This is really good.”

“It’s just a sketch.”

“No, man, I mean, this is really good.” He paused. “I don’t guess you’ve ever done any ink yourself?”

Steve found himself blushing again, because apparently he was a teenage boy all over again. “Uh, no.” He said, trying not to look too proud that Bucky liked his drawing. It was only a stupid sketch after all.

“Hmm.” Was all Bucky said, before putting the sketch on his tracing table and getting to work, leaving Steve to look around the back room. The walls were covered in art – although most of it heavy lines and colours – reminding Steve of the biker tattoos that he’d seen a lot of growing up. There were a few that looked different, more modern and sleek, and he liked those more – thought they fitted much better with his idea of who Bucky was… which was probably wrong, on account of Steve not knowing him at all.

“You’ve got some good stuff up here.” He said, trying to break the tension that only he was aware of. Being stuck in an enclosed space with a really, really hot guy was hard work.

“This shit?” Bucky said, not looking up. “It’s a fucking disgrace.” He paused in his drawing over the copy of Steve’s existing tattoo. “When I bought this place, the guy left all his flash, you know? It’s not the best stuff, but round here it’s all people seem to want. I try to show em some of my stuff, you know, and they just point and the skull with a fucking heart and want that.”

“Gotta be frustrating.” Steve said, nodding. “This other stuff, the minimalist stuff, that’s pretty awesome.”

“Yeah, that’s my stuff.” Bucky grinned, and Steve could quite happily spend the rest of his day making Bucky smile. “But although I can transfer ink like a pro, I’m pretty shit at the actual art. The guys I trained with didn’t think it was necessary for me to learn.”

* * *

 

The chatted away for a while, until Bucky had finished his cover up – showing Steve the original drawing, and what it would look like with the cover up over the top.

“Holy shit.” Was all he could say, before Bucky grinned and arranged a booking for the actual inking.

“How much do I owe you?” Steve asked, fishing out his wallet from his new jeans, the ones Pepper had bought for him.

“Your buddy last night, he paid for the whole thing in advance.” Bucky told him, waving away the money Steve was holding out. “Something about a ‘grats on not freezing to death’ gift, or something.”

“Oh great.” Steve said, sighing. “Another thing I owe him.”

* * *

 

Three days later, Steve was sitting in the chair that reminded him or the dentist, shirt off and neatly folded on the small stood behind him – Bucky sitting beside him, blue surgical gloves on, dragging a razor over Steve’s already hairless pectoral muscle. He’d never really grown chest hair, although he could get a pretty impressive beard going, the only hair on his chest was the light hairs between his navel and lower. “So, I know you’ve gone through this before.” Bucky was saying, rubbing Vaseline into the skin, “But I just wanna go over some things. If it gets painful, let me know, and we can take a break. If you want to stop for a drink or something, let me know.” He grinned, “Don’t be one of those assholes who thinks they can grit their teeth through the whole thing, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve nodded, unaware he’d fallen into his old military training until Bucky snorted a laugh.

“Okay, let’s get this party started.”

* * *

 

Bucky was pretty silent as he worked, focus completely on the lines he was inking onto Steve’s chest. It didn’t hurt half as much as Steve remembered the first one hurting, although that was probably because Bucky actually knew what he was doing. Because Bucky wasn’t paying any attention to Steve other than his work, it left Steve able to stare at the other man as much as he liked.

Which was a lot. Like… far too much.

He couldn’t help it though, even though time and time again he told himself that he was being a creeper and he needed to stop. Bucky had given absolutely no hint that he was interested in Steve (or even guys in general) and Steve was either going to end up let down or punched, depending on how Bucky felt about being ogled by guys. For two and a half hours he struggled through a constant internal monolog reminding him to stop staring.

“Well, I think that’ll do for today.” Bucky said, once the two and a half hours were up. “I’ve got another client coming in for an appointment this afternoon, so how about I book you in for my last appointment tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve agreed instantly, stupidly pleased that the appointments were taking longer than expected.

* * *

 

“So,” Sam said, lounging on Steve’s couch as Steve opened up the new sketch pad he’d bought that day. It had been years since he’d picked up a pencil and paper, and when he’d sketched out his Peggy Carter tattoo he’d been shocked at how much he loved it. “Any further forward to asking hot tattoo guy out?”

“Nope.” Steve said, popping the ‘p’ loudly. “Don’t you have a husband to get back to?” He pointed out. “A husband who deserves another medal for having to be married to your ugly mug?”

“Ouch!” Sam said, clutching at his chest dramatically. “You wound me! Fatal blow.” He winced though, a very real thing. “His mom and dad are over.” Sam said, which Steve already knew. “You know they hate me.”

“They love you.” Steve said, laughing. “They think the sun shines outta your backside. What’s this about?”

“Nothing.” Sam said, shrugging. “Just thought you might want company.” He said, unconvincingly.

“Sam…”

“They’re talking about adopting. Kids! You know Chelsea?”

“Riley’s sister?”

“She’s offered to be a surrogate.” Sam said, looking slightly haunted.

Steve put his pad and pencil down and blinked. “You love kids.” He pointed out. “Riley loves kids. You’d both be **_awesome_** parents.”

“Yeah.” Sam said, a smile playing on his lips for the first time that evening. “Yeah.” He paused. “I’m gonna head off home.”

“See ya, Sam.”

* * *

 

It was already dark when Steve arrived at the parlour, aware that this would be the last time he technically had an excuse to show up. To hold off the inevitable, though, he’d brought with him his sketch book. He’d been toying with the idea of getting another tattoo – inspired by the metal look of Bucky’s futuristic arm.

“Hey man.” Bucky said, getting to his feet from the stool behind the counter when Steve walked in. “I’m just gonna lock the doors now so that no one walks in when I’m working on you.”

Steve ignored the heat passing through his body at the thought that Bucky wanted them to be alone, door locked, as he worked. He knew, objectively, that every time someone walked in, Bucky would have to stop and that added some extra time onto the cover-up, which wouldn’t be ideal for him, but still.

The idea of being locked in with Bucky was nice. More than nice.

When Bucky came back through, Steve had already pulled off his t-shirt and was sitting on the chair, holding his sketch book. “I um, I was wondering if you could take a look at these and letting me know if you could do something like this.”

Bucky took the book and flipped it open, as Steve watched him with baited breath.

“You drew these?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want a job?” Bucky said, after a few moments of just looking between Steve and the drawings on the pages.

“What?” Steve said, completely confused.

“Look, I’ve been trying to work out a cool way of asking you out and I’m not getting very far, but I’d be an idiot if I didn’t ask you if you wanted to work here.” He flipped to a page with the shield Steve had drawn in greyscale, fading graphite lines to make it look like the metal of Bucky’s robotic arm. “This is awesome. I suck at drawing, but I can copy this no worries.”

Steve’s mind though, was spiralling around uselessly. “You want to ask me out?” He managed after a while.

Bucky blinked and then nodded. “Well, duh, look at you – you’re like the hottest dude I’ve ever seen, and your buddy already told me you were gay, so I was gonna wait until after I finished your tattoo. But now I’m just thinking that I’d probably just fuck that up like I fuck most things up, and I’d be better off just asking if you want a job.”

“I think both sound good.” Steve said, well aware that he was grinning like an idiot. “Both is good.”

* * *

* * *

 

“So I want it to look like it’s stuck in my chest.” Tony was saying to Steve,  and that it’s glowing. Like an LED light. Powering my heart.” He paused. “And metal. Modern. You know the shit I like – but Pepper insists that if I’m wearing a suit, you can’t see it.” He winked. “Gotta keep my reputation, you know?”

Steve nodded and smiled when Pepper rolled her eyes from where she was standing behind Tony. Since Steve had started working for Bucky they’d been working on changing out the pictures on the boards that lined the parlour – moving away from the thick lines and cartoon colours. After a year, Bucky had started to get a bit of a reputation for his ‘metallic look’ tattoos, and he’d even been featured in a few national tattoo magazines himself, with his arm flexed to show it off. Steve would talk to the clients and draw what they wanted, while Bucky worked in the back room, inking the designs expertly onto the skin. Although Steve hadn’t gotten another tattoo since he’d got the metallic shield on his arm, he’d become pretty popular amongst the group of friends Bucky had – one of whom turned out to be Clint’s mystery woman, Natasha.

“I’ve already got an idea what you might like.” Steve told Tony and got to work.

* * *

 

“You know we’ve been dating a full year, right?” Steve told Bucky that night as they worked through the clean-up from the day. Steve had been shocked at just how much needed to be washed and sterilised at first, but now it was second nature to him to work around Bucky as he scrubbed everything down.

“Yeah.” Bucky said, grinning. “Still not gonna fuck you in the chair.”

“Spoilsport.”

The other man winked, and Steve grinned. “How about instead,” Bucky said, walking over to Steve with a deliberate swagger. “Once we’re done here, we go back home and I fuck you on the roof?”

“Deal.” Steve grinned wolfishly.

Bucky laughed, and Steve would be quite happy to be the one who made Bucky Barnes laugh for the rest of his life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for you!  
> I've mostly glossed over the actually tattooing because I'm not a tattoo artist.  
> I've got 3 though, so... /shrugs. 
> 
> Anyway, possible punk / inked up Bucky is my best Bucky and I will fight anyone who says different. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> As always, find me on Tumblr : http://bmwiid.tumblr.com/
> 
> And send me a message if you like, I always reply.


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